


Eater

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: The creature in the cage may have been a man once, but Merlin couldn’t see a trace of humanity left in him...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> explicit sexual content, cannibalism, and character death. If you do not enjoy violence, gore, and horror, this is very much not the story for you. (But just so you know, I believe strongly in the nearly-everything's-right-again-at-the-end-horror-story). The villain of the story and the events of the story are loosely based on an episode of Fear Itself starring Elisabeth Moss

The creature in the cage may have been a man once, but Merlin couldn’t see a trace of humanity left in him as he scampered from one end of the small space to the other, rattling his chains and hissing at the guards. The thing mostly kept to the shadows, but when a patch of light happened to fall over his features, everybody recoiled at once, including the creature, who seemed to have an aversion to fire. Merlin kept his distance as the cage rolled over the uneven ground, gaze darting to the lock every few seconds to make sure it hadn’t somehow fallen open. He wasn’t even sure how the knights had managed to find and corner the creature, let alone force it into the mobile prison. 

Arthur led the search, and he walked beside the locked wagon with an unflinchingly face. Merlin admired his bravery and respected his resolve, but he couldn’t force himself to quicken his pace to catch up with the prince. For once, he was glad that his lower status as a servant meant it was totally appropriate for him to follow at a respectful distance. The monster was very tall. He couldn’t stand straight in the cage, and he was forced to keep his spine bent and his shoulders hunched over. His limbs were almost excessively long and thin, and Merlin couldn’t quite make out the details of his hands but he was certain the creature’s claws were as pointed and sharp as his filed teeth. If those hands touched him, he would start+ screaming and never stop. Merlin was as certain of that as he’d ever been about everything. 

By horse, they’d been two hours from Camelot, but with the cage dragging them down, that distance suddenly seemed doubled. Merlin wracked his brain, searching for _any_ excuse that would allow him to hurry on ahead of the search party, but Arthur would never let him run away like that. He couldn’t even use his magic to quiet the creature and make him lay down with his terrifying arms tucked beneath him and still. If he tried, somebody in that group—all specifically trained and conditioned to hunt down wizards and sorcerers—would undoubtedly notice and then probably toss him into the cage with the creature to be dragged back to his own execution. If the creature didn’t rip him limb from limb, first. Merlin didn’t want any part of that. 

Gawain slowed his pace to fall back to Merlin, his face in an uncharacteristic frown, his attention never leaving the cage. 

“What do you think they’ll do with…it?” He asked under his breath. 

Merlin shrugged. “Throw it in the dungeon.” 

“If they’re smart, they’ll kill it right now. Why is Arthur bringing such a thing back to Camelot?” 

“King Uther ordered the Eater be brought back to him.” 

“The Eater? Is that what he’s calling it?” 

“It’s what the villagers have been calling it.” 

“Him,” Bedivere corrected. “That’s a man.” 

“Maybe he used to be,” Merlin whispered. 

“No, he was speaking earlier.” 

“What did he say?” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t understand the language. It sounded…old.” 

Merlin swallowed around a fresh lump of fear. It was bad enough that the thing had filed teeth and sharp nails and was known as _the Eater_ , but this frightened Merlin a level that had never been touched before. Was this thing a sorcerer? What sort of wild magic did he control? All of the previous attacks on Camelot had been by wizards and sorcerers and high priestesses and witches who had some control over their power and skill with magic. He didn’t trust anything called _the Eater_ would have the same sort of control. It could bring the whole castle down around their heads. Or worse. 

“It was probably just gibberish,” Merlin said. “Not even words. Just sounds.” 

“I don’t think it was gibberish.” 

“At least King Uther will probably just have it killed as soon as he sees it,” Bedivere said hopefully. 

Merlin nodded, though he wasn’t quite so hopeful about that. Yes, Uther was a fan of executions, and anything that looked and acted like the creature in the cage would undoubtedly be found guilty of capital offenses. But Uther also liked to put on shows for his people. The executions were pointless without an audience. Nothing would stop him from ordering the execution at first light, and Merlin wasn’t comfortable at the thought of the Eater lingering in the dungeons beneath the castle, even if it was for just a few hours before dawn. 

“Do you know why they call it the Eater?” Bedivere asked. 

“No. I can guess,” Merlin said, hoping Bedivere wouldn’t take that as an invitation to regale him with some horrible story. 

“He eats his victims. But he’s not like a wild animals. He takes them back to his hut, and he keeps them prisoner there.” 

Merlin lets his attention drift back to the creature, slowly becoming aware of the fact that the chains weren’t rattling anymore. That was because it wasn’t moving anymore. It crouched at the back of the cage, long fingers wrapped around the bars, its face moving in and out of shadows as the torches shimmered around it. 

“But here’s the thing. He keep his victims for a long time because he only eats pieces at a time. He might eat a tongue one day and then fry the fingers the next. And on and on like that until there’s nothing left.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Gawain said. 

“It’s just stories,” Merlin said between numb lips. 

“But somebody escaped. That’s how the stories even came back to Camelot. By the time the kid returned to his own village, he was nearly dead and his hand, a foot, a tongue, and an eye were all missing.” 

Gawain and Bedivere fell into a rather grotesque discussion over how long a person could live once taken by the Eater, comparing stories about men who lost various body parts in battle and how long _they_ survived. 

“Guys?” 

Neither stopped their bickering until Merlin grabbed Gawain by the arm and forced his attention. “What is it?” 

“He’s watching me.” 

“He’s not…” Gawain looked up just as one of the lanterns swung towards the thing’s face, illuminating his eyes. They were black and diseased, and they were undeniably trained on Merlin. Before the shadow returned, he smiled. Or maybe he growled, baring his line of pointed, rotten teeth. The corners of his mouth were dark, and Merlin realized it was blood. Dried blood. 

“Merlin.” 

The creature’s arm shot out, just as Merlin had suspected it would, but his fingertips didn’t quite reach them. Merlin yelped and threw himself back, using more force than necessary to keep himself out of that thing’s reach. Gawain caught him just before he hit the ground, but they caused enough of a ruckus that it caught Arthur’s attention. Merlin’s heart was pounding painfully against his chest, his legs trembling in a very undignified way. Gawain noticed that and casually put his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, supporting his weight so he wouldn’t go topping back to the mud. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I…yeah. I’m fine. I just…he scared me.” 

“Tell me about it. Maybe you shouldn’t walk so close to the cage.” 

Merlin nodded and muttered something about keeping a safe distance. Once the fear began to fade, Merlin sensed something else, something darker winding over his skin, sliding across his face and lips. Merlin clamped his mouth closed and turned his head away, resisting the magic trying to push through him. The more he resisted, the more the magic pushed, probing at him, searching for any weak spots. He whipped his head back around to face the thing, forcefully throwing the alien magic back at it along with a wall of his own power. It slammed into the prisoner and knocked him flat to his back, rattling the change and attracting the attention of all the guards. 

“What was that?” Arthur demanded. 

Gawain was still supporting Merlin, and he pulled the smaller man flush against him. “Merlin, did you…?” 

Merlin shook his head sharply. Gawain, being the intelligent and sneaky guy he was, took the hint and stopped his question before Arthur could overhear any of it. 

“Make sure the chains are still secure,” Arthur ordered, not sparing a glance at Merlin, who huddled against Gawain like a child. Gawain’s arms were strong around him, and he smelled like leather and fresh soil. He slowly backed them up, pulling Merlin further from the cage until they were at the tail end of the party. 

“What the hell just happened?” 

“That thing has got magic.” 

“He does? How do you know?” 

“I could feel it.” 

“You have to tell Arthur.” 

“How can I without proof?” 

Gawain gaped at him. “Proof? You have to tell him, Merlin. If he refuses to take the proper precautions because there’s no proof some cannibalistic monster actually uses sorcery, then that’s his problem. Did that thing hurt you?” 

Merlin shook his head. “No, it wasn’t painful. It was more like…worms.” 

“Worms?” 

“Yeah. Worms crawling all over me and trying to push into my mouth and nose. It was all cold and slimy. Like…” Like the grave. That’s what it must have felt like to be a corpse, cold and alone in the dark while the worms consumed what was left bit by tiny bit. 

“Why don’t we stay back here, at a safe distance, until we reach Camelot?” 

“No. If he does have magic, I’ve got to keep an eye on him.” 

“Merlin…” 

“Now that I know what he’s capable of, I can keep my defenses up,” Merlin assured him quickly. “And if he tries anything else, I’ll just burn him up.” 

“Revealing yourself as a sorcerer in the process.” 

If Merlin had to choose between dying at the Eater’s hands and being burned on a pyre in Camelot, he’d take the latter option. He still believed that a single touch from that thing would be enough to drive him—or anybody else—to madness. At least if he performed magic in order to save them all from a more magical threat, Arthur might step up in his defense. A hell of a gamble to take, considering that Arthur had arrested him on Uther’s orders and never even bothered to help him escape. Still, even burning to death under Arthur’s heavy glare would be preferable to the Eater. 

“I risk that every time I protect Arthur. It hasn’t stopped me yet.” 

Gawain was strong enough that if he wanted to, he could have kept Merlin far away from the cage. But he released Merlin’s arm, allowing him to march resolutely back to where he stood before, taking his position just beyond the reach of the creature. He had crawled into a seated position, still gripping the bars with bony fingers while he watched Merlin’s approach. 

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked, dropping back to walk at Merlin’s side. 

“Yes.” 

“What happened?” 

“I don’t know. He just reached for me and it startled me.” 

“I don’t fancy taking this thing back to Camelot. It’s far too dangerous.” 

“You should kill it now,” Merlin encouraged. Was it his imagination or did the think perk up at that? Merlin licked his dry lips and tried to ignore the infected eyes staring at him. “I know what your father said, but he had no idea that you’d be bringing back… _that_.” 

“He’s a criminal. We don’t just execute people in Camelot without a trial.” 

“Uther does that all the time,” Merlin flung back. 

“I don't.” 

“Arthur.” Merlin took him by the arm, bolding yanking him closer. Normally, he wouldn’t take such liberties with the prince’s person, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. If he didn’t do something, and do it soon, Merlin feared what the consequences would be. “This creature is probably magic. It’s not a man anymore. Look at him.” 

Arthur’s attention went back to the monster. Now Merlin had no doubt that it knew what they were talking about. His black lips pulled back, exposing the ragged and bloody gumline above its teeth. Its mouth seemed to be nothing more than a great black hole, an endless pit where nothing, not even light, escaped. Merlin hadn’t been close enough to smell it—thank goodness for that—but he could easily imagine the fetid, foul stench of death that must have lingered on its breath. Arthur tensed beside him, his hand going directly to his sword. Merlin swallowed his sigh of relief, but gave Arthur a tiny nudge, eager to have this whole business over and done with. 

“Arthur! Bandits!” 

Arthur leapt away from him, drawing his sword and rushing to the head of the party to meet the supposed bandits head on. Merlin reached for his own sword, more comfortable with the weight of it against his palm. He had no idea how or when that happened, only that after years of fighting at Arthur’s side, he preferred to be armed. 

“Em _rys_.” 

Merlin froze. _That’s what death sounds like._ When it finally came to take him, that was how it’d say his name. Slow and knowing, raspy like cold air rustling through brown leaves. 

“Em _rys_. I know who you are.”

“Shut up,” Merlin ground out. Shouts and the unmistakable clang of metal striking metal drifted back to him in the darkness. Arthur was somewhere up there fighting. Merlin should be there at his side. Gawain and Leon and Bedivere were there, too, but Merlin couldn’t force himself to take another step forward. 

“I know who you are, Emrys. I know your…secrets.” 

“Then you know I can destroy you.” 

The Eater hissed at him and sank back, but the rictus seemed closer to a smile than ever. Merlin felt the magic gathering at his fingertips, and he knew the right spell, the perfect words that would burn this disgusting creature out of existence forever. Arthur would no doubt have questions, but Merlin would tell him that lightning struck, and the prince may question the coincidence of such a hit, but he’d accept it. 

“Merlin! It’s Gawain! He’s injured.” 

Merlin broke away from the staring contest, the magic fading back into his flesh as he hurried to catch up with the men up the road. Leaving the Eater completely unguarded. Nobody was around to hear it chanting or to witness the way the bars glowed with blood red light. 

#

 

It was still full dark when they reached Camelot, but the noise of the cage rattling and the Eater howling through the streets attracted a fair amount of attention. By the time they reached the courtyard where the king waited for them, nearly all the peasants had turned out of their bed to see what the noise was all about. The knights formed a loose circle around the cage, facing outwards to deter anybody who might be brave or foolish enough to attempt a closer look at the prisoner. Even Uther kept his distance, eyeing the cage with wary disgust. 

“And that is the creature responsible for burning the grain storage?” 

“Yes, by all accounts, this was the culprit.” 

Merlin frowned darkly. He’d only burned the grain storage because he’d been trying to hide a few bodies he hadn’t been able to consume in time. Of course Uther wouldn’t ask about his actual victims. After all, you couldn’t tax grain that no longer existed. 

“Put him in the dungeon. For crimes against Camelot, he will be executed in the morning.” 

The wind chose that moment to pick up, howling around the turrets above them, echoing Merlin’s own protests. The chilled air seemed to cut right through him, turning his blood to ice water and his bones to perfect snow sculptures. He remained motionless at Arthur’s side, though, resisting the urge to fold his arms around himself. The days were getting shorter and shorter. It would be Samhain soon, and though the days were mild, the nights taunted them with frosts and chilly whispers of cold storms approaching. 

Since nobody wanted to take the Eater out of his cage, Arthur led the knights down a sloped passage that opened up in the bottom of the dungeon. It was rarely used, so there were few torches on the wall, and from the top it was impossible to see the floor. Merlin peered into the darkness, trying to gather his courage before Arthur noticed how frightened he was and accused him of being a girl. The dungeons were perfectly safe, and probably far more pleasant than dungeons had any right to be, but Merlin forgot about his own overnight visits to the cells. He forgot that once they reached the bottom, everything would be well-lit and familiar. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go down there and no amount of coaxing would get his legs moving. 

“Some time before sunrise would be nice, Merlin,” Arthur said, unceremoniously shoving him forward. Merlin stumbled a little, but regained his footing before he took a header down the corridor. 

“Why don’t we just kill him right now?” Merlin asked. 

“I’ve never seen this side of you before. So bloodthirsty. I like it.” 

“I’m _not_ bloodthirsty. I’m just making the very good point that we don’t know what that thing is capable of, and we shouldn’t risk keeping it around longer than we have to.” 

“It’ll be dead in a few hours. This will be like nothing more than a dream.” 

Merlin wasn’t convinced. Behind them, the cart began its slow, treacherous journey to the bottom. Horses wouldn’t fit in the passage, so two knights were pulling the wagon, while two more walked behind, ready to pull the wagon to a stop if the slope and the weight became too much and overwhelmed the men leading it. Merlin couldn’t help but cast nervous glances over his shoulder. The Eater was standing once again, and its outline was jagged and dark against the ambient light from outside. 

“ _Please_ , Arthur.” 

“Stop sniveling or I’ll make you guard him all night,” Arthur snapped in the way that meant he wasn’t angry at Merlin, but he didn’t really have any other choice. Merlin’s very strong feelings on the subject didn’t fade, but he bit off the protests. Uther’s word was law, even when that word was even more stupid and dangerous than usual. Merlin very sincerely hoped for Uther’s sake that his blind stupidity never resulted in any serious harm to Arthur, because Merlin wouldn’t abide that. 

Merlin held the flaming torch as far from him as he could, the heat after the night’s coldness was uncomfortable and biting. Even with his arm fully extended, he couldn’t escape the flames. The torch seemed to burn brighter and hotter as they descended—which might have been an unconscious response to Merlin’s fear courtesy of his magic—but the darkness at the bottom never shifted. The shadows never fell back to reveal the firm floor and expended lanterns. 

“Arthur?” 

“What?” 

“Shouldn’t we be there by now?” 

“No.” 

“But I’m pretty sure that we are supposed to be.” 

“You’re wrong then.” 

“We’ve been walking for a long time.” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Arthur countered. “It just feels like it because it’s dark and you’re tired.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Once we have the prisoner disposed of, you’ll realize just how silly you’re being.” 

_And what if we never reach the bottom? What if we just keep walking this path for eternity with nothing but darkness in front of us and the Eater behind? Will I be silly then?_ In Merlin’s mind, they sounded like perfectly valid and reasonable questions. But Arthur would probably find a way to call him crazy if he dared to speak them out loud. 

“I just…I don’t want to be trapped somewhere with him,” Merlin finally admitted in a pained whispered. Yes, Arthur would probably mock him, but he didn’t care because he was fucking terrified. 

“He’s in a cage. You’re safe. Besides, I’m here. If he escapes somehow, I’ll cut off his head and that’ll be the end of it.” 

“Yes, sire,” Merlin whispered, wishing Arthur’s words had the intended affect on him. Instead, he was imagining the Eater breaking free of its shackles and attacking Arthur from behind, tearing his throat out before the prince even had time to draw his sword. The more Merlin tried to stop thinking about it, the more firmly the image entrenched itself in his mind. 

At least he hadn’t felt the thing’s magic trying to push under his skin again. What if he had succeeded? What terrible ways would Merlin suffer as a result? And was it powerful enough to steal his magic? Probably not. If it was _that_ powerful, Arthur never would have succeeded in capturing the thing in the first place. Unless it wanted to be captured? 

Merlin shuddered, unconsciously pushing closer to Arthur and his solid warmth. Maybe he would just kill it himself once Arthur left the dungeon. Once the body was discovered, Arthur would probably suspect Merlin, but not for very long. After all, he didn’t know what Merlin was capable of. He didn’t want Arthur to know he was capable of murder, when necessary. Not that the act he was planning was anything like _murder_. The Eater deserved to die and was a serious threat not just to Arthur, but to all of Camelot. Why could nobody but Merlin see that? 

“Hey! Watch out!” 

Merlin spun around to see the cart rocking on its wheels dangerously. The weight of the cage, plus the Eater throwing its body forward, had created enough momentum to rip the cart away from the knights. Leon struggled against it, bracing his feet on the loose dirt and pushing back with as much force as he could, but he lost ground an inch at a time, sliding down the slope as though another greater force was standing at the back of the cart. Magic. Merlin knew it must have been. 

“Get out of the way!” Arthur shouted, but for the four men in front of the cart, there was nowhere to go. The cart took up the entire width of the corridor, which meant they couldn’t simply avoid it by pressing against the wall. And the dungeon itself was still out of sight, but Merlin knew the angle of the slope would only become more severe as they got closer to the bottom. If they ran, they’d still be crushed. 

Merlin acted quickly, using one hand to push Arthur to the floor and the other to stop the cart, the magic reacting without Merlin giving voice to the spell. The four knights took advantage of the miracle while they could, scrambling to secure their holds on the cart. Once the danger of being horrible crushed was removed, Merlin lowered his hand and released Arthur. Who immediately jumped to his feet and shoved Merlin against the wall. 

“What the hell were you doing?” 

“I was trying to keep you safe.” 

“ _Don’t_ do that, Merlin. You could have been killed. There’s no need to fling yourself between me and danger.” 

“Sorry. It was just…instinct. It won’t happen again.” 

“See that it doesn’t.” 

After that, Merlin walked a few steps behind Arthur, most of his attention on the cart. The Eater pushed himself against the front of the cage, his bodies straining against the bars while he stared at Merlin. Merlin itched to incinerate him, promising himself that once he was alone with the creature, he wouldn’t hesitate a second. He stared back at the Eater with open contempt, not caring if the monster could read his intent in his eyes. 

Finally, they reached the bottom, the guards already briefed and prepared for them. They chose a cell near the front of the dungeon, easily accessed and always in sight. 

“Back the cart up to the door,” Arthur ordered. The knights obediently angled the cart and pushed it against the open cell door. It was a good plan, except for one minor detail. Somebody had to be in the cell to unlock the door, and that would mean being trapped _with_ the creature. The four knights and the guards all saw the problem at the same time, each of them making a move to volunteer for the task, but Arthur cut them all off. 

“I’ll unlock the door.” 

“Arthur, you can’t. It’s dangerous,” Merlin whispered furiously, for once entirely unmindful of undermining Arthur in front of his men. 

“Wait here.” 

“Arthur. Sire. Please.” 

He slid his body between the cage and the door, positioning himself inside the cell. The Eater positioned himself on all fours, crouching low to pounce. Merlin’s gorge began to rise, and he prepared himself for the inevitable lunge, the magic that would stop the Eater’s attack, and the terrible fallout. Merlin was quite confident that if Arthur found out about his magic privately, he’d react with calm deliberation. If Merlin exposed himself in front of his knights, what choice would Arthur have but to place him under arrest? But he didn’t want to see the terrible creature eat Arthur’s face, so his options were limited. 

Arthur slid the key into the padlock and lifted it free. Merlin tensed, his fingers tingling. All the men had their swords drawn, though Arthur was effectively cornered, and if the Eater did attack him, their swords would be useless. By the time they pushed the cart out of the way and shoved into the cell, Arthur’s entire head could be consumed. Arthur pulled the door open, positioning himself so it remained between him and the Eater. Despite the tension obvious in the creature’s muscles, it didn’t spring forward prepared to attack. It crawled out of the cage and sort fell to the cell floor in a strange, gangling heap. Arthur shoved the cart back, giving him a few inches to squeeze out. The guards darted forward at the same time, pulling the cell door shut and locking it with a resolute click. 

“See, Merlin? Nothing to worry about.” 

“Nothing,” Merlin echoed weakly, following him up the stairwell. He looked over his shoulder with every step, waiting for the creature to rip the door off his cell, or use magic to fillet one of the guards, but he only huddled in the corner of his newest prison, silent as the shadows he tried to blend with. 

“I won’t need you anymore tonight,” Arthur said, once the door leading to the dungeon closed behind them. “But I expect breakfast to be on time tomorrow.”

“Yes, sire.” 

“Merlin…” 

“Yes?” 

Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder that meant he was going to say something emotional and meaningful, but appropriately manly. “I know you’re worried about Gawain. But I’m sure he’ll be fine. It was just a flesh wound.” 

Somewhere along the way, Arthur became convinced that Merlin and Gawain were more than just good friends. Since Arthur didn’t seem to mind, and since it fit Merlin’s purposes of keeping his real feelings a secret, he didn’t go out of his way to disabuse the prince of his absurd notion. At times, Arthur was downright supportive of his manservant doing unspeakable things to his newest knight, which would have been great new if Merlin wouldn’t have preferred to see Arthur torn up with jealousy. _Just be happy he hasn’t threatened to kill Gawain and remember that the Prince of Camelot will never be jealous over you._

“Thank you. I should go see to him and make sure he’s resting comfortably.” 

Arthur showed his approval with a slight squeeze of his fingers and even slighter nod of his head. With that duty seen to, he marched off to his chambers, leaving Merlin to see to his own affairs. Merlin turned back to the dungeon, his face settling into a hard mask. It was true he didn’t know what the Eater was capable of, but he was happy to remain in ignorance if it meant removing danger from Camelot. 

 

“Did the prince forget something?” One of the guards asked as Merlin approached. 

Merlin smiled brightly, being sure to look a little dimwitted as he did so. “Prince Arthur told me I’m to be his eyes and ears tonight. If there are any changes with the prisoner, I’m to alert him immediately.” 

The guards grunted in response and turned back to their game of dice. None of the guards were very good, in Merlin’s experience. They were easily distracted and easily fooled, and if any of Arthur’s knights were caught behaving like that, Arthur would string them up by their toes. He wasn’t surprised to learn that most of the guards had tried to join the knights, but never passed inspection. Once they failed four or five times and got the message that they’d never defeat Arthur—or even impress him—in combat, they were sent to Doyle, the captain of the guards, who did what he could with what he was given. Merlin thought it was a shitty system, but Arthur didn’t have time to train the knights and the guys who stood on the watchtower every night from midnight to dawn. Though, perhaps the dungeon guards should receive a bit more personal attention. 

Merlin settled against the wall opposite the Eater’s cell door, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest and his eyes locked on the still, almost shapeless figure. After the restless energy he exhibited in the cage, his stillness was unnerving. Like a corpse, but worse. Merlin had seen many dead bodies in his young life—and many more since coming to Camelot—and none of them made Merlin so uneasy in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps because off those corpses were really, truly dead, and this thing…well this thing wasn’t dead at all. Yet. He would be soon enough. 

“I think he’s sleeping.” 

Merlin looked up at the guard. What was his name? Aglaral? 

“Arthur wants me to keep an eye on him.” 

“Well, he’s not going anywhere, is he?” 

“We don’t know what he’s capable of doing. Look, Arthur didn’t send me to guard him. This isn’t about you or anything.” 

“I know it’s not about me.” The guard bent and grabbed Merlin by the neck, easily lifting him off the floor and holding him against the wall. “It’s about you getting underfoot.” 

“I’m not…” Merlin clawed at the hand around his throat, but he couldn’t move the fingers at all. They were like bands of steel wrapped around his vulnerable neck, and the pure strength of his grip alerted Merlin to just how vulnerable his neck was. “I can’t…can’t…breathe.” 

“G _ood_.” The guard tilted his head closer and opened his mouth, revealing a row of perfectly filed teeth. “Did you know, little warlock, that if you consumed the heart of your enemy, you will absorb his strength?” 

Merlin tensed like a rabbit caught in the hawk’s shadow. His magic thrummed beneath his skin, waiting for Merlin to unleash it. He did without thought, letting the power surge from deep within his chest and push through every inch of his body, unchanneled and undirected. The Eater shook, his hand vibrating against Merlin’s throat, but it wasn’t enough to dislodge him. His face rippled, changing features like they were nothing more than masks. Merlin caught a glimpse of the Eater’s true face, but even worse was the way he changed into each one of the other guards. Merlin’s gaze slid sideways to see three guards slumped over the table. But they’d been alive before, hadn’t they? 

No, Merlin realized, they’d simply been reanimated, controlled like puppets. 

“You can’t destroy me with your magic. The life force of a thousand people flows through me.” The Eater plunged his fingers into Merlin’s chest, his nails digging through flesh and bone to reach his beating heart. “You also consume a person’s spirit.” 

The Eater yanked, pulling Merlin’s heart free of his ribcage. The last thing Merlin saw was the teeth sinking into his beating heart.


	2. Chapter 2

“Twice-damned cunting bandits,” Gawain muttered, trying and failing to find a more comfortable position on Merlin’s bed. He was happy for any excuse that brought him to Merlin’s bedroom, but he could have done without the blade tearing a gash across his lower back. He felt like he’d been flayed open. No matter how he angled himself, it fucking _hurt_. Gaius assured him he’d live, but at that moment, Gawain wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

Seeing Merlin would make things better. Seeing Merlin always made things better. But he wished the wait wasn’t so prolonged. He didn’t regret serving the prince of Camelot, but on nights like this, he deeply resented Arthur and the claim he had on Merlin’s time, attention, and affections. Gawain could give Merlin something Arthur Pendragon never could or would, but Merlin would never see that. Even when Gawain tried to show him by stripping down to nothing and crawling into Merlin’s bed. Gawain would never receive points for subtly. 

Gaius had slipped him something after he finished stitching Gawain’s back. _For the pain,_ he’s said. The pain was still there. It sat hot and heavy in his back, radiating from his spine to his stomach. But strangely, Gawain became less concerned with it as time passed, until he was _aware_ but not. The pain didn’t go anywhere. It couldn’t. It was a boulder in his midsection, a stone that nothing could budge. But his mind drifted away from it, floating high above Gawain’s body without a care. Nothing seemed connected in any meaningful way. He held his hand in front of his face to test his fingers, moving them one at a time, unconvinced they were responding even as they wiggled like worms crawling out of the earth. 

The door swung open while Gawain was so distracted. _Oh fuck. Oh no. Where’s Merlin?_

The figure stepped forward, holding a small candle. The flickering flame cast dim light on Merlin’s familiar face, and he smiled his kind smile. 

“Gaius told me you were sleeping. How are you feeling?” 

Gawain chuckled warmly. “I’m good.” 

“How’s your back?” 

“Good. Good. I mean, it hurts like a son of a bitch, but it’s good.” 

Merlin crossed the room and picked up the empty jar on the floor beside the bed. “What was in this? One of Gaius’ potions?” 

“He told me it would help with the pain.” 

Merlin sniffed briefly, his grin widening. “Yes, I imagine it helped very much.” 

“The prince has no more need for your services?” Gawain licked his lips and frowned. They were quite numb. The words didn’t sound right. Too slow and slurred. Merlin understood him anyway. 

“I’m free for the moment.” He touched the back of his hand to Gawain’s brow, his touch tender and sweet. Gawain had laid down with a lot of women, and quite a number of boys, but nobody ever touched him like Merlin did. “Just making sure you don’t have a fever.” 

Gawain caught his wrist, smiling as Merlin’s pulse raced beneath his thumb. He was so skinny. Thin like a bird. Fragile. He ignited every protective instinct Gawain possessed, until he understood why men went to war. He would fight anybody to keep Merlin safe, including Prince Arthur himself if it became necessary. Gawain had spent his entire life fighting only for himself. He didn’t know what to make of the generous impulses Merlin inspired, but they were all confused with his base desires to the point he wanted to fuck Merlin against the wall at the same time he wanted to lock Merlin away so nobody—not even himself—could touch him. 

“Gawain…” Merlin gently tried to pull away, but Gawain refused to release him. 

“Have mercy on me, Merlin. The prince has released you from your duties for the night.” 

Merlin pulled away again, succeeding this time. Gawain sighed, too exhausted and sore to fight him. He collapsed against the mattress, watching with half of what remained of his mind as Merlin unknotted the scarf around his neck and let it fall to his floor. He took the satchel from his shoulder next and shrugged off his jacket then kicked away his boots. Merlin had a great comfort with being undressed in Gawain’s presence, a fact that drove Gawain mad most days. He still watched with interest as the pants hit the floor and the ratty shirt followed. 

“Poor sweet Sir Gawain.” 

Merlin touched his knuckles to Gawain’s cheek, swinging his leg over his prone body to straddle his hips. Gawain closed his eyes, leaning into the touch shamelessly. Gaius’ potion made the pain distant, but Merlin took the pain away entirely. How could he even think about anything unpleasant while Merlin’s cock brushed against his growing erection? 

“You must taste delicious.” 

Gawain cupped the back of Merlin’s head and drew him closer. “Why don’t you find out?” 

The kiss was wild as the spring’s first rainstorm, whipping through him with the ferocity of northern winds, washing away everything but Gawain’s desire for Merlin’s touch. He held Merlin to his chest with one arm, his other hand still cradling his hair, brushing the soft edges over his fingertips. Merlin moaned into the kiss, gripping Gawain’s shoulders like he never intended to let go. For the first time since he met Merlin, Gawain didn’t feel Arthur standing between them, destroying every second before they began. He opened his lips wider, forcing his tongue deeper into Merlin’s mouth, expecting to find something sweet. But there was the barest hint of something sour. 

Once Gawain sensed it, he couldn’t stop tasting it. It infected his mouth, coating the back of his tongue and sliding down his throat. Milk left too long in the sun. A battlefield soaked with rancid blood. Flies buzzing over carrion in an endless, eternal drone. Buzzing in his ears. Buzzing in his throat, swarming at the base, filling his chest and his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. He coughed, tried to pull away to catch his breath, but Merlin caught his head and refused to release him. The more Gawain struggled, the tighter Merlin held him, until Gawain became convinced Merlin’s fingers would sink right into his skull. 

Something new tickled the back of Gawain’s throat. His chest and stomach convulsed instantly, his gag reflex doing its job and forcing the unpleasantness from the back of his throat. But the strange tickling persisted, Merlin’s mouth stretching wider to cover all of Gawain’s, sealing his mouth closed and blocking air. The fluttering continued for another moment before Gawain’s throat bulged from the length of Merlin’s tongue. Gawain started to scream—or tried to scream. But Merlin’s mouth muffled every sound of protest. He pinched the tip of Gawain’s nose, blocking the last of his air. Within seconds, everything began to swim and fade out. 

Just as blackness settled over his vision, Merlin yanked away and tossed his head back, gasping for breath. Gawain echoed him, sobbing for precious air between frantic coughing fits. No matter how he tried to clear the tickle from his throat, he couldn’t force it out. He doubled over, hanging off the side of the bed and pulling air from deep inside of him, building the cough low in his diaphragm. With a final heave, the blockage at the base of his throat disappeared, and a dark cloud erupted from his mouth. He blinked again and again at the flies now buzzing around Merlin’s room, drifting from one side of the bed to the other in a loose swarm. 

“What…” Gawain choked out. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Merlin grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him flat to the mattress. “Gawain? What’s wrong?” 

“The flies.” 

“There aren’t any flies.” 

“There were. They…they came out…” 

“They came out of where?” 

“My mouth.” 

Merlin frowned and tilted his head, leaning in closer to inspect Gawain’s face. “There weren’t any flies in your mouth, Gawain. I think I would have noticed.” 

“But I saw them.” 

“It might just be the poppy.” 

Gawain blinked, still feeling the tiny scrape of fluttering wings in the back of his throat. “What?” 

“That’s what Gaius gave you for the pain. Extract from the poppy. It’s very…potent. Sometimes it can cause hallucinations.” 

“So I hallucinated the flies?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about your tongue?” 

Merlin stuck his tongue out. “Looks normal to me. How does it feel?” He tilted his head and dragged his tongue across Gawain’s jaw, letting the smooth skin linger on his rough stubble. 

“It feels good,” Gawain breathed. 

“Hmm, that’s good. Just lay back and relax. And remember that the poppy might make you see things. Sometimes the hallucinations can even feel real.” 

Gawain nodded. That made sense. Of course it made perfect sense. It should have occurred to him because he only felt the flies after he first started thinking of them. Could he control his hallucinations? He’d once smoked something quite foul that was said to give the user waking dreams. He barely remembered that experience, but the bits and pieces he could access seemed to be like this. Everything was very loose and very close and far at the same time. Gawain liked it. He melted into the bed, imagining his arms literally becoming one with the mattress while Merlin licked his jaw and throat, the rasp of his tongue the only sound in the room. 

“Oh, I could just eat you up.” 

Gawain smiled sleepily. “Why don’t you?” 

“I just might.” 

Merlin laved at his throat, collecting the small beads of perspiration before they pooled at the base of his throat. He dragged his tongue over Gawain’s Adam’s apple, then nuzzled his nose against the soft skin beneath Gawain’s ear. His cock stiffened again, and a pleasant warmth flooded his chest and spread down his limbs. He forgot about the flies, or the terrible odor, losing himself in the gentle heat of Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin moved lower and lower, licking the lines of his chest, tracing his nipples with the tip of his tongue, and treating Gawain’s skin like it was the rarest, the sweetest, of treats. When Gawain opened his eyes again, he had to strain them to catch Merlin’s features, but he didn’t want to risk forgetting a second of this. It may never happen again. It may not be anything more than a fluke, and if it was indeed a one off, Gawain didn’t want the images to fade away with the rest of the hazy images courtesy of the potion. Merlin chose that same moment to look up at him and grin. A slow, knowing grin. One that contained all kinds of unspeakable promises. Gawain’s chest clenched with satisfaction. Did Merlin ever smile at his prince that way? Gawain didn’t think so. 

Merlin caught Gawain’s nipples between his lips and sucked on it until the flesh hardened. Gawain gasped and arched slightly, pushing into the contact, sharp pleasure piercing him as Merlin teased the skin with his teeth. Once the nub of flesh was fully erect, Merlin bit around the base. His teeth sank deeper and deeper. At first, there was no pain at all. And then it was dull. And then it was very, very bright. Gawain howled and tried to twist away, but Merlin kept his hips in place and held down his shoulders. He felt like he was moving under water, and no matter how he tried to jerk and twist, something else held him down. Merlin’s teeth sank deeper and deeper, until Gawain was screaming. The screams must have been coming from his own throat, bursting out of him like the flies had-but-not-really-but-maybe earlier. 

Merlin jerked his head viciously, tearing Gawain’s nipple off. The screams instantly dried in Gawain’s throat. He stared in horror as Merlin tilted his head back like a dog and let the flap of skin fall into his throat. He swallowed, his grin returning only bigger now, blood smearing across his mouth and chin. 

“What’s wrong, Gawain? Remember. This is all a dream.” He tilted his head and lapped at the blood now flowing freely over Gawain’s chest. His body rumbled with satisfaction as the dark liquid drenched his tongue. “Just a dream.” 

“Please stop,” Gawain tried, weak and drenched. Thick blood rolled over his ribs and gathered on his flat stomach, more spurting from him with each heavy thud of his heart. Merlin didn’t let it stain him for long. He chased after every bit with his tongue, sucked it up between his lips, moaned and purred like a cat given a fresh bucket of warm cream. “Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.” 

“Shh, Sir Gawain. You’re afraid. I can taste it.” Merlin spoke slowly, each word as slick as the blood. The syllables dripped into Gawain’s flesh, formed hard crystals beneath his skin, and then shattered into tiny shards. They each entered his veins, racing along through his blood, lighting him up with pain. 

“This isn’t a dream,” Gawain forced out. 

“Oh, but it is.” 

Merlin bent his head over Gawain’s chest again, teeth closing on the nip of his remaining nipple. Gawain shouted, but that didn’t stop Merlin, and that skin suffered the same fate as the other. Merlin chewed and chewed, working the flesh over thoroughly before swallowing it down. He smoothed his palms over Gawain’s chest, spreading the hot liquid, painting his skin. On the third journey over his skin, Merlin used his fingernails, scratching ten matching lines into him. Blood welled up in each line. Merlin gasped with pleasure and pressed his hot body to Gawain’s aching chest, sliding over the blood, playing in it like a child might play in the mud. Gawain watched with mounting horror as Merlin spread the dark fluid over his face and down his throat and licked hungrily at his fingers. 

“God, you make me hard,” Merlin said thickly. “See?” 

He took Gawain’s hand and brought it to his cock, forcing Gawain’s fingers until they bent around his hard shaft. 

“Do you like blood, Gawain? I know your type. I know how much a good fight excites you. Harder.” 

Gawain tried to comply, but he was so tired. The poppy…the potion…the blood it made him tired. Merlin’s teeth flashed white, somehow so white, and Gawain wasn’t surprised when he felt those sharp, white teeth sink into the sinew of his neck. He screamed, thrashed weakly, bucking his hips and kicking his legs, but none of it was enough to sway Merlin. Blood spilled out of him like yolk spilling from a cracked egg, running down his throat and shoulder in hot rushes while Merlin slurped at it hungrily. 

“I’m going to eat every bit of you.” Merlin gasped with obvious pleasure, lapping at the wound in Gawain’s neck. “There won’t be anything left to burn.” 

“Get off me,” Gawain gasped. “Get the fuck off me.” 

Merlin covered his mouth. “Shh.” 

Gawain clawed at his hand, finally forcing it away from his lips. “Help! Gauis! Help me!” 

“I told you to be quiet.” 

Merlin gripped him by the jaw and pushed Gawain’s head back with his other hand, forcing his mouth open. He couldn’t resist the strength, couldn’t turn away as Merlin lowered his mouth to Gawain’s in a mockery of a kiss. Gawain’s tongue wiggled like a worm, trying to avoid capture, but Merlin’s mouth shifted, his teeth somehow growing longer. Gawain knew that wasn’t possible, but he couldn’t escape their sharp points. They were like a dozen heated blades sinking into his tongue. Blood erupted in his mouth, dripping over his chin and flowing down the back of his throat. Merlin shook his head roughly, like a dog snapping a cat’s neck. When he sat up, Gawain caught just a glimpse of his tongue disappearing permanently between the creature’s lips. 

“Now try to call for help,” the thing above him rasped. Merlin’s face was gone, and Gawain’s heart seized. The pain from the bites eclipsed everything but his fear. Gawain had never been afraid like this. It was well-rounded and perfect, a globe that encompassed the universe, a glass dome that couldn’t be shattered. He was so weak. The life was flowing out of him, and he felt every bit of it. He felt it draining and heard it dripping dripping dripping onto the floor dripping off the bed dripping from his fingertips and mouth and neck running running lower flowing into the creature’s waiting mouth. 

The sharp knock on the door didn’t seem real to Gawain. He heard it, but he heard a constant knocking in his head, growing weaker as his heart had less and less to pump. Growing weaker and he wasn’t going to die this way. This wasn’t what he planned, bleeding and drugged, but nothing would cooperate. The sharp knock again. And again. Again. And again. 

“Merlin? Prince Arthur is searching for you.” 

The thing lifted its head—there was skin caught on its teeth—and its face temporarily transformed into Merlin’s. “Is he here?” 

“No, he sent a servant to fetch you. You shouldn’t keep him waiting.” 

Merlin—the Eater—licked his lips and grinned down at Gawain. “Don’t move, lover.” 

Gawain couldn’t fight the thing himself, and he was sure if Gaius tried, he would meet his very swift and unceremonious end. Gawain half-closed his eyes and slumped on the mattress, momentarily welcoming the darkness that so badly wanted to consume him. He heard the Eater dress and open the door, but there were no further exchanges with Gaius. The older man must have gone back to bed after delivering Arthur’s message. They couldn’t let that thing get to Arthur. 

With the last of his strength, Gawain picked up the small candle on the nightstand and flung it out the open door. At first, the flame flickered and seemed to be out, but the ghost of the fire caught on a scrap of material, and soon flames licked across the floor. 

#

Arthur stripped his clothes and crawled into bed naked, too tired to even search for his breeches. Sleep pulled at him until his eyes fell shut and he welcomed the heaviness in his limbs, but he couldn’t quite fall over the edge into the abyss. Something nagged at the back of his mind, growing more insistent with every minute until his eyes flew open and he stared up at the canopy with confusion. Had he forgotten something? The Eater was safely locked away in the dungeon and the castle slept on, but Arthur couldn’t deny the encroaching anxiety. 

He gave up on sleep and used the moonlight to hunt around his room for his pants, pulling them on before crossing to the window. The courtyard below his window was empty, and Camelot spread before him in peaceful slumber. From that high in the castle, nothing seemed amiss. There were no warning bells, no guards racing in from the exterior to protect the keep. Something moved in the shadows on the far end, but when Arthur squinted and looked harder, he saw it was just a barn cat. The full moon hung above the dark woods beyond, fat and white as a bare skull. Arthur suppressed a shiver at the thought, absently wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill. Clouds gathered on the horizon, hanging low and gray, threatening to move in and take away the last of the silver light. 

Somewhere below him, a monster crouched in its cage, its emaciated body stained permanently by the blood of innocent men, women, and children. How many had the Eater killed before they captured it? There was no way of knowing, no way of ever taking a count. Especially since many of its victims simply _disappeared_ , no trace of their bodies anywhere. They were taken from their homes, from their work, from hunting trips. Wild animals and bandits had been blamed, but the Eater had lingered in one village for too long, and when too many disappearances couldn’t be explained by bandits or animals, they’d sent a messenger to appeal to Uther for help. 

Arthur had ridden out with his best knights, determined to rid the kingdom of such foulness. They’d captured him after only three nights of searching, and Arthur had credited their success to his amazing leadership abilities and the knights’ skill and strength. But they’d been lucky, and Arthur knew it. But what if it hadn’t been luck? 

What if Arthur had dragged a menace into the depths of Camelot? Merlin had been frantic, but Arthur had felt superior to Merlin in his fear, confident that Camelot was secure against any foe. Even one as horrific as the Eater. But Arthur was, at times, capable of admitting when he was wrong. He might have been wrong. He might have been very wrong. Uther would be angry if Arthur acted on his own, taking it upon himself to execute the prisoner before the planned time, but he doubted he’d sleep a wink until he saw his own sword slice into the Eater’s neck.

The wind chose that moment to pick up, whistling past the window, high-pitched and eerie, like a child was crying just outside. Suppressing another shiver, he moved to the fireplace. Nobody had taken the time to properly lay one out that night, and Arthur hadn’t thought about it. Now the hearth was cold, and the bitter wind followed the pathway right into Arthur’s room. Goose bumps broke out like a rash over his arms and the back of his neck. He began stacking the wood, his fingers tingling on the sharp edges. A clatter in the courtyard echoed loudly in the still night, distracting him, allowing a splinter to wedge in the pad of his finger. 

“Shit!” 

Arthur dropped the wood and brought his finger to his mouth, using his teeth to catch the end of the thick splinter and pull it free. A drop of blood landed on his lips, hot and coppery. He sucked on the skin for a moment until the pain dulled, staring at the fireplace with disgust. He was cold, anxious, on edge, and now his finger was killing him. 

He wanted Merlin. 

As soon as the desire for his manservant was properly articulated, he walked over to the door to intercept the closest guard. He knew Merlin was most likely sleeping, just as exhausted as the rest of the men had been when Arthur had relieved them for the night. He knew Merlin was mostly likely sleeping with Gawain, and summoning him to his chambers merely because he needed a fire and he didn’t want to be alone wasn’t a very considerate thing to do. That didn’t stop him, though. 

Besides, he needed Merlin’s help dressing if he was going to kill the Eater. And Merlin would whine if Arthur went to the dungeon and didn’t even tell him about the plan. 

With that taken care of, Arthur slumped in his chair, wishing he could make himself think of something besides the Eater. Arthur wasn’t even sure who had started calling the creature that, or why the name had stuck. The peasants had many names for it, but that’s the one that stuck in Arthur’s mind and on the tongues of his knights. Such an innocuous word, but when he thought of it, when he thought of that _thing_ , something unfamiliar clutched at him. 

Where was Merlin? 

Arthur jumped at the loud knock on the door, almost cutting himself with the knife he held. He set it aside and straightened, wiping a speck of blood from his finger before calling, “Come.” 

Merlin peeked his head in first, smiling brightly when he saw Arthur at the table. “Ah. There you are.” 

“Where else would I be?” 

“Don’t know. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 

“I’m cold.” 

Merlin stopped short at the table. “Did you call me up here to start a fire?” 

“Yes.” 

“There are other servants for that, surely.” 

“I didn’t want the other servants, Merlin.” 

Arthur expected another retort, but Merlin just grinned his slightly manic grinned and shuffled over to the fireplace. “It’s getting a bit chilly.” 

“Yes, I think a storm is blowing in.” 

Merlin glanced over to the window. “So there is.” 

“How’s Gawain? Good, I hope.” 

“He’s very good. Resting.” 

“How long do you think it’ll be before he can start drilling again?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on him any time soon.” Merlin sat back on his heel and rubbed his hands over his thighs. “There, that should be good and hot in a minute.” 

“I’m sorry if I…pulled you away from…tending to him.” He was stupid to bring Gawain up at all. Knowing his newest knight had feelings for his manservant shouldn’t have made a single difference in his life, but it did. It weighed on him when he had nothing else to think about, and he’d even had a few startlingly explicit dreams about the two men twining around each other. Every second Gawain had with Merlin, every secret and smile and laugh felt like it cost Arthur something. 

“He’ll keep.” 

“I was thinking about what you said earlier.” 

“What’s that?” 

“About the Eater.” 

Merlin looked up sharply. “Oh? What about him” 

Arthur frowned. “I think we should kill him. I know I said that we should wait but…I think I was wrong. There’s something…there’s something off.” 

“It might just be the storm making you uneasy, sire.” 

“Maybe but…help me dress.” 

“You’re going down there now?” 

Arthur nodded and stood. Merlin mirrored him, his attention suddenly locked on Arthur’s hand. “You hurt yourself.” 

“It’s nothing. Just a little splinter.” 

“Let me see.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“I want to see,” Merlin insisted, grabbing Arthur’s hand and angling his finger towards the light. He studied the tiny injury intently, his brow creased with concern (or maybe something else? Arthur wasn’t sure and standing that close to Merlin made him a little lightheaded anyway). Slowly, Merlin brought Arthur’s hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the tiny stained patch of skin. Arthur managed to keep his breathing even until he felt the small flick of Merlin’s tongue across the pad. 

“Merlin.” 

Merlin looked up at Arthur through his lashes, his eyes shining with an unrecognizable light. Arthur forgot what he was going to say, his mind emptying of everything that wasn’t Merlin and the places where they touched. His tongue darted out again, almost delicate where it dragged over his skin. Arthur’s cock twitched at the sight of it. Nothing could take his attention from Merlin—except what sounded like the end of the world as thunder crashed just outside the walls, the echo rumbling across the valley below. 

Arthur yanked away from him with a jerk. “What was that?” 

“The storm.” 

“There’s not usually thunder this late in the harvest.” 

Merlin shrugged. “There is tonight. Lightning too. I saw it reflected in your eyes.” 

“Come on. Let’s go down to the dungeon before the thunder wakes the whole castle.” 

“Yes my lord.” 

Arthur swallowed around something hard and bitter in his throat. Maybe it was just the storm that had him on edge, as Merlin suggested. When lightning storms got close, the air on his arms and neck always stood on edge. That plus the uncommon chill of the night probably had everybody who was still awake in an anxious state. 

“Do you think it will be easy to kill him?” Merlin asked. 

“He no doubt has a few tricks up his sleeve.” 

“You should be careful then.” 

“I have every intention of being careful, Merlin.” 

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Merlin leaned closer as he spoke, his lips almost but not quite touching the side of his neck. “I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.” 

“If something happened to me, it’d hardly be your fault,” Arthur pointed out, holding perfectly still. If he let Merlin’s lips touch him again, he might forget that he was preparing for an important and dangerous mission. 

“Hardly,” Merlin agreed, stepping back to secure Arthur’s armor. Outside, lightning flashed and the wind slammed sheets of water into the stone walls.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin woke with a gasp, clawing at the freshly closed wound on his chest and immediately thinking of Arthur. He had to get to Arthur. He had to warn him about the Eater. He had to kill that thing and burn its body and send the ashes into the wind. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t see, either. All the torches had been blown out, and no light escaped through the heavy doors above, or the tiny windows in the cells around them. He couldn’t even be sure he was laying flat on his back, except that the floor beneath him was the only thing that felt real. That and the steady beating of his heart against his ribs, keeping time as resolutely as it ever had. 

The Eater might be somewhere nearby. It might be right there with him in that very room, waiting for him, somehow knowing Merlin would wake up again. He heard it. He knew he did. He heard it crouched over one of the guards, eating it piece by piece, gnawing on a hand, and then a leg, and then digging into a soft belly with teeth and claws to get all the tender meat under the skin. Merlin heard the squelch of blood, the crack of small bones breaking against teeth one by one. It was silent. But what he heard was real. Those weren’t sounds Merlin imagined, they were echoing back to him from…

Merlin put his hands to his face and counted the ten fingers pressed to his cheeks. Ten. There were ten fingers, his heart was still beating, and his stomach—he clutched his stomach to find it was closed, but there was a vicious wound across his midsection that matched the one over his chest. The Eater was gone now, but before he’d left, he’d torn into Merlin like he was an unfortunate rabbit caught and terrified in a snare. Having been on the wrong end of the predator-prey relationship, Merlin didn’t think he’d be eating rabbit ever again. 

Using the wall as a brace, Merlin slowly pushed himself to his feet. He clung to the sheer stone, leaning all his weight against it, afraid if he let go of the smooth wall, he’d topple back down to the ground and whatever still pooled where his body had once been. He didn’t want to lay in his own blood and feel it soak into his clothes, pushing against his skin like it could somehow seep back into his body where it belonged. 

“ _Léoht_ ,” Merlin whispered, half-heartedly waving his hand. A ball of blue light appeared just above his head, hovering sedately. Merlin stared up at if for several seconds, knowing that he didn’t want to see what had been shrouded by the dark, but knowing he had to look. If only for a few seconds, he had to look. And then he had to run and find Arthur. He had to run and act like everything was just fine because Arthur could never, ever know, could never even guess that Merlin had died, and in the strange twilight between the living and the next world, he’d _heard_ the Eater consume him. No, Arthur must never know any of that. 

Taking a deep breath, Merlin lowered his gaze to survey the dungeon. He immediately wished he hadn’t, frozen in terror, unable to look away as his brain imprinted every terrible inch to his memory, burning it there so Merlin could carry it with him for the rest of his days. His summoned light bobbed sedately on the air currents passing beneath the castle, making the shadows shorter and longer across the black stains that were splashed across the walls, the floors, even the bars on the doors. There was no way one body had produced so much blood. There were dark fingerprints several feet above Merlin’s head, out of the reach of any normal man, but there was no mistaking their shape. 

There was a puddle of blood on the floor where Merlin had found himself—more of a lake of blood. Merlin saw himself in the middle of that pool with perfect clarity, nearly ripped completely in two by the force of the Eater’s hunger, guts hanging loosely from his stomach cavity, the Eater holding his intestines in both fists while he gorged himself on Merlin’s skin. He tore his gaze away from the spot, his breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps, but there was no safe place to look. The guards—what remained of them—gave additional clues to what Merlin could only imagine, their bodies no longer in the proper form of once living beings. 

Thunder cracked, startling Merlin enough to make him lose his concentration. The light gave out, plunging him in the darkness again. The back of his neck went up, his shoulders tensing and his legs preparing for flight. He hadn’t seen any sign of the Eater, but that didn’t mean he was gone. He could still be there, hiding, waiting to see what Merlin would do. He could be in one of the cells, or crouched around the corner, rocking back and forth with desperate hunger that had only been temporarily sated by Merlin’s flesh. 

Or he could be searching for Arthur. 

Merlin swallowed and summoned the ball of light again. He had to find Arthur. He was sorry for the guards who’d been dismembered and abandoned, who’d lived their final seconds in a bloody haze of perfect terror, who’d died alone and probably _not_ before the Eater dove into their soft bodies. But he couldn’t do anything to help them now. 

He needed to get out of there before it drove him mad. 

Merlin picked his way around the drying blood, walking on his toes around the very edge. He didn’t want to linger, but he couldn’t stop looking at it. How had so much blood been inside his body? And how could he walk away from it now? No matter how many fights and battles he blithely followed Arthur into, he’d never seen anything like. He’d never seen blood standing like black water, reflecting the light from its brackish surface. 

He did pause to check the bodies, muttering apologies under his breath as he rifled through what was left of their raiment, searching for weapons or anything else that might be of use. He found two short blades, which he tucked into his belt, and a sword with a sticky handle. He used his tattered shirt to wipe away as much of the blood as he could, a voice in the back of his head asking just what he thought he’d accomplish with one sword, a dozen swords, or a hundred swords. The Eater couldn’t be killed by magic, and Merlin doubted he’d get close enough to drive the steel through the creature’s heart. If he even had a heart. Maybe there was nothing between his bones except magic and black bile. He took the armor off one of the guards who was missing both his arms, but seemed to have his chest intact. Merlin didn’t know if the chainmail had done any good at all, but his clothes were nothing more than rags hanging off his frame, and Merlin wanted _something_ to protect him from the Eater’s claws and teeth. 

Thus dressed and armed, Merlin hurried out of the dungeon and away from the stench of warming blood, moving as far as his legs would allow. He half expected to find the castle in utter disarray as he escaped from the dungeon, but all was calm. The guards remained at their stations, motionless and bland as always. There were no servants passing to and fro, no sense that anybody was alive at all. Remembering that the Eater had managed to animate corpses before, Merlin avoided the guards, keeping his head down and hurrying through the dark corridors. He didn’t know how powerful the creature was, and he didn’t want to find out the hard way that he could use the dead as weapons or spies. 

Despite recently being gutted like a fish, Merlin found he could still run remarkably fast. He raced up flight after flight of stairs, passing through alternate lines of light and shadow, his sword clenched tightly in his hand. His body knew what to do, his feet knew where to take him, and the terror didn’t slow him down. The thunder only grew louder as Merlin ascended through the castle, echoing through the building like his heartbeat. His eyes were constantly searching for any hints of blood, and he rounded every corner with the full expectation of something horrific on the other side, but everything was almost distressingly normal. Merlin _knew_ there was a monster free in the castle, but did anybody else even have a clue? 

Did Arthur? 

The thought spurred him to move even faster, and he was at a dead run by the time he reached the corridor leading to Arthur’s chambers. He sprinted the final yards, throwing his body into the door and forcing it open with the momentum. 

“Arthur?” 

Lightning exploded outside the window, a blinding, almost stunning, flash of light. Arthur’s room was perfectly illuminated, every shadow lifted, every angle stark and visible. In that flash, Merlin could see the room was completely empty. The fire burned low, but the wood was fresh and mostly whole. Arthur’s chainmail and sword was gone. Had he heard that the creature escaped? Was he on his way down to the dungeon now? Wouldn’t they have passed each other if that were the case? Merlin hadn’t seen or heard anybody except the occasional guard on patrol. 

“Arthur?” 

He adjusted his grip on the sword and braved another few feet. Rain lashed against the windows, the wind easing off only to slam against the castle again with furious force. He hoped Arthur would just emerge from behind his changing screen or from under the bed or maybe stroll through the door eating an apple because he couldn’t go to sleep on an empty stomach. But Arthur wasn’t there, and the possibility that Arthur was already _gone_ gnawed at him, more painful and vicious than the Eater's teeth had been when they sank into his stomach. Merlin wasn’t sure how he could even remember that, but he did, and it wasn’t just his imagination. 

Merlin spun on his heel, wondering if he should enlist the help of the guards, wondering if he should try to wake the knights. Wondering if he should just use his magic, because if the Eater couldn’t consume most of him and kill him, what would Uther do to him? His mind jumped from possibility to possibility, inspecting each option frantically before dismissing it for the next one. The rest of him knew what to do, even if his mind didn’t, and he pushed Gaius’s door open before he even consciously realized he needed to stop there first. 

He expected it to be as quiet as Arthur’s chambers, but it was full of people. Gaius, Leon, Kay, and Arthur stood around the table, huddled over a prone figure Merlin couldn’t make out. The acrid smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and Merlin noticed a patch of burnt soot on the wall before his gaze jumped to the man standing off from the group, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Merlin met his own eyes, and his twin flashed razor sharp teeth. Merlin’s gasp was high-pitched, strangled, like the Eater had plunged into his chest to squeeze his lungs between his fists. 

“There he is,” the monster shouted. “I told you he looked like me.” 

The men at the table looked up at once, their faces registering somewhere between horror and rage. The knights reached for their swords. Arthur’s was already in hand. They didn’t even wait for Arthur’s order before lunging at Merlin. He didn’t have the space to think or even be afraid, he just froze time. The men all stopped in place, giving Merlin the opportunity to really see how ugly they’d become in their fear. Even Arthur was ready to remove his head. _Arthur_. Shouldn’t he know the difference between the real Merlin and some disgusting, heart-eating imposter? 

The imposter in question wasn’t moving either, and Merlin’s heart lifted. Could it be that easy to kill him? He hadn’t been harmed by Merlin’s earlier attempts at magic, but what if Merlin just held him in place and lobbed off his head? That was a job better suited for Arthur or Leon or anybody with actual upper body strength, but Merlin was strongly motivated, and the blade he held was sharp. 

Merlin moved to bring his plan to fruition, but the form on the table caught his attention before he made it across the room. It was Gawain but there was something seriously wrong with him. At first, Merlin’s brain refused to process the individual details to create a whole picture, but he couldn’t look away, either. Most of the blood had been washed away from his chest, but some still flowed from between his slightly parted lips, and the rag Gaius had wrapped around his throat was stained with fresh crimson. With time stopped, Merlin couldn’t see his chest moving, but he must have been alive. He _had_ to be alive. 

“You’ve got to move faster than that, Emrys.” 

The voice was right at Merlin’s ear, and he swung wide with the sword, his arm connecting with the creature’s chest. There was enough force behind the blow to send him staggering back, giving Merlin the time and room to plant his feet correctly. He held his sword up, the polished steel catching each flash of light from outside the window. 

“Who are you? What are you?” 

“I have many names.” He dragged his tongue over his lips in an almost obscene gesture. “But I like yours the best. I think I’ll keep it after I find the source of your power. Nobody else has survived.” 

“Nobody else is like me. And I will destroy you.” 

“You can’t catch me.” 

The Eater darted forward and pressed a cold, open-mouth kiss to Merlin’s lips before scampering out of the room. Merlin swore under his breath and moved to follow, wiping desperately at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clean his skin of that sickly, rotting odor. He paused long enough to grab a bottle of hemlock from the shelf, pocketing it before sprinting out of the room. Behind him, the enchantment broke. Arthur shouted at him to stop. Merlin forced the door shut and locked, knowing it wouldn’t hold the prince for long but hoping it would keep him safe long enough. 

By the time Merlin made it to the first intersection in the corridor, the Eater was out of sight, and left no crumbs to follow. Merlin slid to a stop, the bottle in his pocket hitting his thigh as he considered his options. He closed his eyes and risked extending his magic, searching for something, anything that would lead him in the right direction. The castle was generally barren of magic, save for Merlin’s, but since Morgana’s return, he could always sense her. He sensed her now, asleep in her room, but there was something else pulling at him. Something that felt like himself yet very far away. When the Eater took his heart, did he take some of Merlin’s magic as well? Was that why he could move when time slowed? 

Merlin decided these were very good questions for later exploration. Much later. Like when the thing was dead and the entire matter was strictly academic. Something to dissect and pull apart with Gaius over their bowls of porridge. In the mean time, he ran, the hem of the too-long chainmail slapping against his knees with every stride. He took the stairs two at a time, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion and fear, extending every bit of strength, every ounce of magic, to get him to Morgana’s chambers in time. 

#

“Where did they go?” Leon shouted, looking around wildly for the two men who’d been there just a second earlier. 

Arthur didn’t bother checking the room. They were gone. He wasn’t sure how or why, but Arthur didn’t have the time to deny the obvious truth. Somehow, they’d both disappeared at the same time, and only one of them was the real Merlin. The other was an imposter guilty of the most heinous attack Arthur had ever witnessed. He’d kept his composure as Gaius explained Gawain’s injuries, but he knew that the man’s empty mouth would haunt his nightmares. He’d seen more gruesome injuries, men who were maimed to the point of being unrecognizable, but he’d never seen anything as fundamentally disturbing as the ragged stub, all that remained of Gawain’s tongue. 

“Leon, you must run and warn my father and his guards. Kay, stay here and protect Gaius and Gawain.” 

“Sire.” Gaius caught his arm. “You must be very careful. That creature possesses great magical power. He will not fall easily to a sword.” 

“I’ll be careful.”

“Arthur…one more thing.” 

“What?” Arthur ground out, tempted to yank his arm away from the old man’s light grasp. 

“The Merlin you brought in here is not the real Merlin.” 

“How could you tell?” 

“I saw something. Just for a second, but I saw his teeth. You mustn’t let him confuse you.” 

“How can he take Merlin’s shape?” 

“It must be very powerful magic.” 

“I’ll be careful,” Arthur repeated, though it wasn’t a prince’s place to reassure anybody. Arthur answered to nobody except his father, but he needed Gaius to believe that everything would be fine. Especially now that he understood the Eater could use his own feelings against him. Who had been in his chambers with him? Who held his hand so delicately? Was that all it took to cloud his mind and throw him from the scent? Was he so easily manipulated? 

He looked around frantically for any sign of either Merlin and caught the tip of a shadow disappearing around the corner. He tore off after it, rounding the corner with care in case there was a trap. Nobody waited for him in the hall, and there was no other sign of where they could have gone. It wasn’t a sound strategy to chase through the corridors blindly, especially since apparently the creature could take any face it wanted. 

Any face. 

Morgana and Gwen would both open their doors to Merlin, even at this late hour. It never occurred to Arthur that the Eater wouldn’t make a beeline for the two women. Where else would it go? Who else could it possibly want? He ran the direction of Morgana’s chambers, moving lightly on his feet, not making a sound despite the heavy armor he wore. Merlin liked to call him an oaf, but he could be very graceful, and very silent, when he wanted to be. 

At the bottom of the final flight of stairs to climb, he heard Gwen’s screams. All of his muscles seized at the same time, pulling him up abruptly. Thunder boomed, momentarily overwhelming the high pitched sound of terror, but then the screaming returned, more awful than ever. He knew it was Gwen, because Morgana would never scream like that. He had a brief flash of their bodies mutilated, destroyed. Grief, sharp and poignant, stabbed at him, prodding him past the shock and back into a run. He took the stairs two at a time and burst through the door without pause. 

“Arthur! What are you doing here?” 

Morgana sat up in her bed, holding the sheet up to her throat, her long hair spilling down her shoulders and back in loose, midnight waves. Lightning burst outside her window, and in the electric blue light, she seemed even more pale than usual. 

“Where’s Gwen and Merlin?” 

“They’re not here,” Morgana said, managing to sound confused, exasperated, and amused at the same time. Like there was nothing more ridiculous than Arthur coming to her just because he lost two servants. “Arthur, what’s gotten into you?” 

“The…criminal we brought back to Camelot escaped tonight.” 

“I heard that you caught the murderer. How did he escape?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Morgana pushed the bedclothes off her legs. “I’ll help you search for him.” 

“No, it’s too dangerous. You should leave. Or go to Uther.” 

“Don’t be silly. I’m not afraid. I’m as good with a sword as any man.” 

“He’s already killed several people tonight. I’m afraid your sword won’t be enough.” 

“And yours will be? Don’t be so chauvinistic, Arthur. You need help.” She rose gracefully from the bed, standing with her back to the window, outlined by quick, soundless flashes of lights. Arthur waited for the thunder to rumble over them, but he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears as Morgana untied the front of her nightgown. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur rasped. 

“I can’t help you in my nightgown, can I?” 

“I’ll wait outside,” Arthur said, ducking his head. 

“Oh, don’t be silly. Besides, I’ll need help getting dressed.” She crossed to him with long strides, and it was impossible to tell when each step began or ended. She seemed to float to him, her arms outstretched, her hair hanging nearly to her waist. She looked like a specter, cursed to haunt the trembling stones of Camelot for eternity. 

_Morgana’s dead._

The thought shocked him awake again. He held his sword up, at the ready, and took a step back. Morgana paused, giving him the most reproachful look he’d ever seen. 

“Arthur, is that any way to treat me? You offend me.” 

Arthur’s sword was steady and straight, the tip angled at Morgana’s heart. “Stay back.” 

“You and I could have some fun. The crown prince of Camelot and the king’s ward? Who could stop us?” 

“Where are Gwen and Merlin?” 

“Why are you so worried over two servants? You’ll all be reunited soon enough. In the mean time, we should enjoy ourselves.” 

“If you come one step closer, I’ll drive this sword through your throat,” Arthur warned, tightening his grip. He sounded like he meant it, but he couldn’t imagine carrying through with the threat. How could he ever do anything like that to _Morgana_? He would sooner die himself than harm her, but this wasn’t Morgana. He knew that as sure as he knew his own name.

“I’m not going to kill you right away,” the thing said. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, after all. You brought me to this place. You’ve made it all so very easy. By morning, the kingdom will be mine.” Morgana licked her lips and shivered. “I’ll pick the bones of Camelot clean.” 

“I won’t let you.” 

“You can’t stop me, my little prince.” Morgana sprung forward, her face falling away to reveal the creature. Arthur thrust his sword, aiming for the Eater’s neck, but it batted away the blade as easily as a horse whisked away a fly. It clattered to the ground, the sound still echoing in Arthur’s ears as the Eater tackled him into the wall. 

Arthur struggled, putting both hands against its chest, shoving it away while he held his head out of the reach of the thing’s teeth. He’d expected magic, speed, and grotesque teeth, but he hadn’t counted on strength. The Eater held him down with the strength of ten men, snapping its teeth again and again, the appalling click of its jaws as loud as the thunder in his ear. Arthur flexed one hand into a fist and swung up, catching the Eater on the underside of its jaw. If the creature had been a man, it would have been enough to send it tumbling back. Arthur had broken more than one jaw with just that sort of blow, and had even knocked one opponent out cold. But the Eater wasn’t even dazed. 

“She was sweet. Powerful. She had so much power that I could actually _taste_ her destiny. She was good, but you’ll be a feast.” The Eater gripped Arthur by his hair and forced his head back, exposing the damp column of his throat. “I actually did you a favor.” His teeth sliced the words as they passed through, reducing them to a hiss. “Not that you’ll live long enough to thank me.” 

Arthur expected to feel the snap of powerful jaws on his throat. He didn’t realize the Eater was aiming for his ear until the sharp pain sliced through his fleshy earlobe. He screamed and tried to yank away, and the Eater gave him enough room to try. Unfortunately, he head went one way, and his ear stayed where it was, locked in the Eater’s teeth. The lobe tore off, taking most of the shell with it. Arthur stared in horror at the flesh dangling from the Eater’s mouth in the split second before it disappeared down its throat. 

“Delicious.” 

“What _are_ you,” Arthur whispered, holding the side of his head. Blood poured down his wrist and into his sleeve. “Are you a sorcerer?” 

“No. But I have magic. After tonight, I have a lot more magic.” The Eater held Arthur in place and laved his ear and neck, unhurriedly cleaning the blood away, swallowing it with greedy slurps and moans. “Would it be more pleasing for you if I took another face?” 

“Get away from me,” Arthur ground out, renewing his struggles. He’d never felt so helpless in his life, and Gawain’s empty mouth, his terrified eyes, his maimed chest rose up in Arthur’s mind. Gawain had been lucky. When the Eater was involved, _that_ horror show was what luck looked like. “Where’s Merlin?” 

“Dead. Again. Or at least I assume he is. I didn’t really have the chance to double check.” 

“Maybe you should have,” Merlin said, appearing out of what seemed like thin air. Arthur caught the familiar sight of a blade slicing through the air just before the Eater howled loud enough to make Arthur’s ears ring. It felt like his entire head was wet and coated with sticky, warm blood. The Eater swung his arm around, his first connecting with what remained of Arthur’s ear so hard the world wavered, dimmed until he couldn’t even make out the monster’s form in front of him. 

“Why won’t you stay dead?” The thing roared. 

“I’ve got too many things to do.” Merlin sliced at him again, this time cutting him from his left shoulder to his stomach. Arthur slumped to the floor, trying to blink away the fuzziness, but it only grew worse. The floor felt unsteady and uneven beneath him, and he knew he was going to pass out. He’d been knocked unconscious enough times to recognize the familiar signs, but he fought against it, convinced that if he gave into the darkness, he’d wake up with all of Camelot slaughtered. Or worse, he wouldn’t wake up at all. 

Arthur only had the strength to keep one eye open. He tried to stand again, but there was too much blood on the floor. It wasn’t all his, either. Had it been there before? Why hadn’t he noticed it? Why couldn’t he fight now? Why did the Eater overpower him so easily? He was the best fighter in all of Camelot, maybe even all of Albion, but the monster had overpowered him so easily. The room lit up again as Merlin lunged forward, aiming for a third blow that looked like it would slice the Eater open from his left shoulder to his right hip. But the creature caught the blade and yanked the sword out of Merlin’s hand, tossing it to the side effortlessly. 

“Where does your power come from, Emrys?” 

“Like I would really tell you.” 

“I’ll keep killing you until I find it.” 

“You haven’t killed me yet. Maybe you’re not as powerful as you thought you were.” 

The Eater roared, lunging for Merlin. He quickly sidestepped the attempt, but the Eater reached for him again and again, determined. Merlin was faster, though. He jumped back, leading the creature to the door with a taunting, stupid grin. Arthur wanted to shout at him to be careful, to stop being such an idiot. To _stop protecting him_ because goddamnit didn’t they already talk about this? Arthur could accept that his knights and the rest of Camelot were supposed to lay down their lives for him—he didn’t like it, but he could accept it. But he couldn’t accept that from Merlin. 

“You want the source of my power?” Merlin taunted from the doorway. “Then come and get it.” 

He ran, gangly arms and legs pumping, and the Eater giving chase. Arthur tried to push himself to his feet, slipped in the blood, and sank back down to the floor. 

“Arthur, you shouldn’t move.” 

“Gwen?” 

“Shh, Arthur, it’s me.” 

Arthur forced his eyes open to see her concerned frown, her wild, frightened eyes. “I thought you were…” 

“Merlin got here in time. He…he sacrificed himself for me.” 

“He’s alive.” 

“That’s not possible, Arthur.” 

Arthur frowned. No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t possible at all, but it was the truth. And Arthur wasn’t going to let anything change that. 

“Help me up.” 

“Arthur, you need to rest. I’ll send for Gaius and…” 

“ _Guinevere_.” 

She jumped. “Sire.” 

“Help. Me. Up.” 

Gwen nodded, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and holding his ribs with the other. She counted two three, lifting while he pushed, until they finally got his weight off the floor. Arthur braced himself against the wall, swaying back and forth while the castle moved around him. Gwen’s face first seemed very far away and very close. Honestly, he didn’t know how much of a help he could be, but he wasn’t going to let Merlin face this thing himself. He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it. 

“Here.” Gwen tied a scarf around Arthur’s head. “To help with the bleeding.” 

“Hide yourself, Gwen. Hide somewhere nobody could find you. Leave the castle.” 

“I can’t just…” 

“Please go. Please. You’re not safe here.” 

Gwen bent and picked up his sword. She placed in his hand with a small smile. “Be careful, sire.” 

Arthur promised he would be, though he doubted taking care would make a difference.  



	4. Chapter 4

Merlin ran, the sound of the Eater’s heavy breathing pushing him to speeds he never thought possible. The fresh wound in his throat was beginning to heal, the skin knitting together despite the blood flowing from it like water. Merlin’s heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst through his gouged flesh, ripping open his chest once again. Merlin held one hand against his throat and used the other to guide him through the endless corridors, trailing his fingers against the stone, unmindful of the streaks of blood he left behind him. He didn’t have a clear idea of where he wanted to go or how to get there, he only wanted to take the monster away from Arthur. More than that, he wanted to outrun the memory of Morgana’s final seconds. Maybe if he put enough space between himself and her corpse, he wouldn’t be forced to relive that terrible moment again and again and again. 

The castle was always drafty during storms, and wind rushed down the passages, buffeting him on all sides and blowing out the torches. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but blackness. When he closed his eyes, he saw the Eater crouched over Morgana, outlined in vivid blue, its mouth contorted in a mockery of Morgana’s scream. Her eyes had glowed gold at the same moment Merlin flung his hand out, but their combined power couldn’t fling the monster away. Unmindful of Merlin, it plunged its hand in her chest, ripping the beating muscle free of her ribs like she was made of parchment. 

Merlin had screamed and lunged across the room, throwing himself onto the creature and knocking it to the floor. The Eater might have been caught off guard, but he’d regained his bearings quickly. From there, everything had been a blur, Merlin vaguely aware that Gwen was in the room and he needed to stay between her and it. 

He took a random right and then a left, which led him down a very narrow flight of stairs. The stone walls scraped both shoulders as he descended, the passage becoming tighter and tighter with each step. He didn’t recognize it, didn’t have any sense of direction, didn’t even know where it could be taking him. There were no windows to allow even the occasional flash of light, no torches, no candles. Merlin might have believed himself completely alone except the Eater couldn’t suppress his excited, rapid breathing. It grew louder and then Merlin could _feel_ it right on the back of his neck, hot and damp and sour. 

Merlin tried to force his legs to move faster, but there was no escaping the thin, bony hand that came down on his shoulder. It dragged him back hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs when he hit the solid chest. An instant later, the shape and feel of the body against his back transformed, and the pungent air was temporarily overlaid by the sweeter smell of Morgana’s powders and perfume. Merlin froze, losing precious seconds while Morgana’s arms tightened around him. 

The Eater pulled Merlin’s head back, its head darting forward as quick as a snake. Merlin couldn’t see clearly, but he caught a hint of Morgana’s profile just before the teeth sank into his throat. The monster tore at him like a dog, ripping a deep hole in his throat. Merlin shouted, but too much of his throat was missing, and so it was more a gargled, desperate whimper. He tensed his shoulders and kicked his legs, struggling against the impossible bands of steel keeping him in place. His cheek rubbed against her flawless skin, and Merlin wasn’t sure what possessed him except for bone-deep terror. He turned his face as much as he could and returned the bite, using just as much force, not even releasing the flesh when blood erupted in his mouth. It was thick and putrid, like rancid oil coating his throat and the roof of his mouth. He applied more pressure, biting down until his jaw ached from the force of it. 

The Eater screamed loud enough to make Merlin’s skull vibrate in the enclosed space, but Merlin managed to shove free of the creature. He leapt down three stairs, his foot cracking painfully on the stone when he landed. But he was at the bottom of the stairs, and he didn’t let the pain stop him. His shirt and chest was absolutely drenched in blood, and Merlin tried to scream just to see if he could. But there was only that strange gargling sound again, echoing around him as he raced through the darkness to an end he couldn’t see.

Merlin slammed into the wall at full speed, the force of the impact knocking him to his ass. He landed heavily, his ears buzzing, the darkness spinning at an impossible rate. The ball of blue light reappeared above his head, though Merlin had no memory of summoning it. He looked over his shoulder to see the Eater nearly on top of him, still wearing Morgana’s face. Her eyes were wide and mad, the purest image of insanity Merlin had ever witnessed. Blood stained her mouth and covered her white dress, matted her hair against her neck. There were handprints on the white material and a boot print where Merlin had kicked to make his escape. 

“Dead end,” it said thickly, eyes flashing a manic blue. 

Merlin scampered backwards and used the wall to push himself to his feet. He felt along the stones for the latch he knew must be there. Why would there be a passage that went nowhere? There had to be a secret exit or a trap door somewhere. He slid his fingers over the cracks and crannies, frantically pushing the tips between the stones. He knew that if the Eater did manage to rip his heart out for a second time, he’d wake up again. But Merlin had no desire to die again. It hurt. 

Morgana pounced on him just as he found the catch he was looking for. He triggered it and the wall opened, the two of them falling in a bloody heap into the secret hall. The Eater quickly gained the upper hand, one knee on Merlin’s chest, bony hands pinning Merlin to the floor. 

“How many times are you going to kill me?” Merlin choked out, blood bubbling up between his lips. 

“As many times as I can.” 

Merlin tried to twist into his stomach while the Eater grappled with the chainmail, pushing it up his ribs like a lover. He tried kicking his legs up, hoping his knee would connect with the creature’s back, but he couldn’t reach the thing. Not quite. He concentrated on his magic, gathering what he could and using the well-worn spell to heat the armor. It glowed bright red in the darkness, simultaneously burning the Eater’s hands and scalding Merlin’s skin. Pain flashed through him, accompanied by the sickly sweet smell of his own burning flesh. The Eater jumped back, its howl a wordless expression of acute agony and confusion. Merlin didn’t waste time scrambling back, frantic for even an inch of space between them. 

Merlin didn’t know how, but he managed to find his feet again. His instincts shouted at him to run, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go. He’d backed himself into a musty corner, the dusty air tickling his lungs with each wet, sucking breath, his torso throbbing, his throat still bleeding freely. He was a little shocked to feel tears wetting his lashes and dropping down his cheeks. They seemed a natural response to regular pain, but this went so far beyond anything Merlin ever felt that tears didn’t seem like the proper response. He wanted to scream the agony out of him. He wanted to shout for somebody to _help him_ , even though he knew nobody could. 

Merlin scanned the room until he found what might have been a way out. He angled his body towards the opening, gesturing the light away as he ran. A colder wall of air slammed into him as soon as he reached the passage, and the slight incline of the floor told him they were going down into the pits under Camelot. The tunnels and passage ways dug out over the years in response to sieges and wars crossed and crisscrossed, forming a complicated maze. Merlin had only explored a small fraction of that maze over the previous three years, but he knew that it was probably twice the size of the castle itself, burrowing further and further back into the mountain. 

Maybe if he went in deep enough, the Eater would never find its way out again. If Merlin failed to kill him, that would be Camelot’s only hope. Of course, if Merlin failed to kill him, he might find himself trapped in that maze, wandering through the claustrophobic tunnels in circles, unable to die, unable to stop. Counted dead by everybody he ever cared for. Who would even know to look for him there? Who would know to look for him at all? 

Maybe he and the Eater would both be caught in the maze, neither capable of finishing the other. Merlin’s stomach clenched painfully at the thought of an eternity trapped with that monster, losing his heart, his guts, his sanity every time the creature caught up with him. His mind would slip away bit by bit. Worse, his sense of self would go with it. He’d spend eternity in a living grave and once he went mad, what would happen to him? Would he be a monster himself? Would he be reshaped into the Eater’s image? 

But he didn’t stop running. Even when the fears began to change shape from speculation to certainty. There was no hope and no help. He would count it as a victory as long as Arthur didn’t suffer Morgana’s fate. 

“Merlin!” 

Merlin skidded to a stop and spun around, the Eater doing the same thing several feet above him. Arthur stood at the mouth of the passage, outlined in orange light from the torch he gripped in his left hand. His sword was at the ready in the right, and even at a distance, Merlin could tell he was still bleeding. 

“Get out of here!” Merlin shouted. Or tried to shout. Even if his throat wasn’t hanging open, he was too out of breath to get any sort of volume. It was too late, anyway. As soon as the Eater saw the prince standing there, it sprung forward. Arthur angled his sword, thrusting forward just before the Eater tackled him. The blade ran through its body at the same time Arthur’s torch went flying, plunging the three of them into darkness once again. 

Merlin’s first, overriding impulse was to tear that thing off of Arthur and give him the chance to escape. He pulled the miraculously intact bottle from his pocket and yanked off the topper. He drank down half the hemlock before he could second guess the plan and poured the other half in his open throat and across his neck. He didn’t doubt that the Eater would go for the most vulnerable, bloodiest point. He just hoped the creature didn’t prove itself as immune to poison as it did to everything else. 

He dove at the Eater with the last of his strength, trying to pull him off of Arthur. He swung around to bat Merlin away, but Merlin clung to him, his arms locked around the things bleeding, wretched body. He couldn’t let go if he wanted to, his muscles paralyzed as the poison worked through his system. They fell backwards, the Eater landing on top of him. Merlin immediately went lax, his muscles unresponsive, the last of his air escaping through his throat. 

“By the time you wake up again, your prince’s heart will be mine,” the Eater promised him, hot breath fanning over Merlin’s face. “And I’ll kill you again.” 

_Please work. Please work. Oh my god…_ He wasn’t surprised by how easily the teeth ripped through his flesh, or by the fresh gush of hot blood. Somewhere far, far away, Arthur shouted his name. 

#

Arthur crawled to his hands and knees, but he couldn’t find his sword. The torch flickered out of reach, the flame sputtering weakly. Soon, it would go out completely. Soon, he would be in the dark with that thing. Alone. Soon he would be _alone_. He rolled across the floor, fingers outstretched to clutch the base. Once he had it in his palm, Arthur found the last of his strength, driven by the sound of the Eater slurping at Merlin’s flesh. The squelch of lips against blood, the moans of satisfaction, the harder crunch of snapping tendons echoed off the low ceiling, kindling Arthur’s anger into frenzy. 

The sounds stopped, but Arthur didn’t notice the new silence. The roaring in his head was too great. He fell on the creature, beating its head and shoulders with the torch, screaming incoherently with each blow. The sword stuck out of the thing’s back, and he pulled it free with a hard yank, using both the blade and the blunt weapon for his attack. He hacked and bashed until he heard pieces of him hit the floor and roll down the incline. He’d been running on adrenaline, chasing Merlin and the Eater through the castle, ignoring every throbbing second of agony. Now the last of the adrenaline was burning through his veins, and with every hit he thought the Eater would respond, raise an arm to defend itself at least. Arthur kicked at its ribs and it slumped against the wall, nothing more than a pile of bones and rags. 

Not satisfied with that, Arthur held the tip of the torch against its clothes, hoping the fire would take hold. It licked at the material tentatively, like even it didn’t want to have anything to do with the creature. Arthur fanned it with his hand until it caught, the flames spreading sluggishly. With the light that provided, Arthur began chopping at the Eater’s head, chipping away at the skin and bone with his blade until it finally hung off his neck at a strange angle. A final, hard kick had it rolling down the passageway. 

“Merlin?” 

Arthur dropped to his knees, the light glowing brighter as it found more fuel to burn, though the drafts flowing up from the bottom fought the little flames, pushing them down. Merlin’s face was drawn and waxy, pale as ivory against gold. For a brief second, Arthur thought maybe if he could get Merlin to Gaius…but then he saw Merlin’s throat. The blood had stopped pumping through the wound, but Arthur had never seen a bite mark so savage. The flesh was pulverized, ground up and discolored. Arthur’s gasp turned into a sob, and he gathered Merlin’s stiff body into his arms. Tears scalded his face, washing away any fresh blood. 

“Merlin. Merlin wake up. Please wake up. Merlin.” 

Arthur rocked with each word, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair, smoothing his palm over his face. His hand moved lower, to where the blood was cooling on his throat, a fresh sob tearing from Arthur’s chest. It was unthinkable to lose so much in one night. A storm brewed inside of him that rivaled the hell unleashed outside the castle, but with the wrath came a profound sense of powerlessness. Merlin wasn’t going to wake up, and no amount of pleading would change that fact. Not even if he beat the Eater into a pile of dust. Its body still burned, though the flames were low, taking their time to cover every inch that remained. Arthur kept Merlin close to him and pushed with his feet, sliding up the floor to the secret room above them. The light was much dimmer there, but Arthur didn’t want the stench of burning, decrepit flesh to linger on Merlin. 

Merlin’s lips were already cool when Arthur touched them, stiff against his. Arthur pressed harder, like he could kiss the life back into Merlin’s body. He clutched tighter at Merlin’s shoulders, his arms aching from the tension. His hair felt normal against Arthur’s fingers, the silky threads dragging over his skin with every caress. _This is our first kiss_ Arthur thought, a little wildly, lifting his head long enough to wipe the blood that spread from Merlin’s lips to his. He used his sleeve to clean Merlin’s face, rubbing it with enough force to wipe the dry blood away. With that done, he bent his head and kissed him again, wishing he could pour his own breath into Merlin’s lungs. 

He knew he needed to stop. He needed to let Merlin go, stand, call the guards. There was a clear next step, and another step after that. He’d have to turn Merlin over to Gaius and then tell his father about Morgana. And then there would be funerals. What did Merlin want? Would he want Arthur to return his…him to Ealdor? Arthur couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He already knew that. Merlin would be entombed there in the castle, where Arthur could visit him and he wouldn’t be alone in the dark. Arthur knew what he needed to do, but he couldn’t force himself to move. If he dragged Merlin into the light, he would have to face the truth. If he dragged Merlin into the light, he wouldn’t be able to hold him any longer. 

He was breaking. 

It started in his stomach. A tiny silver, a thin, spidery tear in the very core of his body. Merlin’s lips were wet beneath his mouth, but it was just the moisture from his tears. He was melting. His face was melting, his mouth, his heart. He was melting around Merlin, and they had to stay there in the dark. Arthur couldn’t take him into the light where he’d see the damage, the bite marks, the gashes, the endless blood. He didn’t want to see the way Merlin had _suffered._ So needlessly. If Arthur had listened to Merlin when he first insisted the Eater needed to be killed, none of this would have happened. Why didn’t he listen to Merlin? And why did Merlin have to pay for the prince’s obstinacy? Somebody had to pay when Arthur made mistakes. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur choked out, kissing Merlin’s cheek, his nose, his chin. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please wake up.” 

They didn’t have to leave. No, no, they didn’t have to go back into the light. They could go deeper into the darkness. He could carry Merlin down into the bowels of the castle. There nobody would have to see the way Arthur had failed him. Had failed them both. There nobody could take Merlin from him or hurt him. Crazy or not, that seemed a much better solution than the alternative. He was so sorry. So very, very sorry. Why hadn’t he listened to Merlin? Why hadn’t he been stronger, faster? Arthur didn’t know where the Eater came from or who he’d once been, but he hadn’t been able to stop him. That was all that mattered. He’d failed them all.

His tears weren’t going to be denied. Arthur tried to swallow them, tried to keep a handle on his emotions, but the external checks and pressures that always kept him in line didn’t exist there, in that space, in that moment. His grief carved a canyon through him, tears relentlessly pouring down his face, sobs erupting from him like random flashes of thunder. He couldn’t get enough air. Had his lung been punctured? Maybe that was why he gasped and gasped but it was never enough. His chest ached, his head ached, his teeth ached. Arthur didn’t know how to cry, and the sounds he made were all wrong, too high pitched like a wounded, corner animal. They traveled down to the bottom of the secret passage, bouncing off the walls and returning to Arthur’s ears, distorted and terrible like demons shouting back at him. Like the Eater joining in the chorus of his pain, taunting him. 

“ _Léoht_.” 

Arthur jerked at the unexpected word, but that small surprise was nothing like the shock of seeing Merlin’s blue eyes staring him in the dim, familiar light. The orb hovered above his head, throwing his features into sharp relief. 

“Arthur?” Merlin’s mouth shifted into a small smile, but the next second he tensed and tried to sit up. “Where is it? Is it dead?” 

“It’s dead,” Arthur assured him, possessively pulling Merlin to his chest even though the other man was still trying to get himself vertical. “I cut off its head, and lit the rest of it on fire.” 

Merlin relaxed slightly. “The poison must have worked then.” 

“Poison?” 

Merlin nodded. “I drank hemlock and dumped the rest on my throat. I hoped that would be enough. If it didn’t work, I don’t know what I’d do.” 

“Hemlock? You were poisoned? How are you…what is this?” 

“I’ll explain everything, Arthur. I promise. But can we get out of here? I’m tired of the dark.” 

“Yes.”

But he made no move to stand. In order to get to his feet, he’d have to release Merlin. And he wasn’t going to release Merlin. His body felt different now, still bony and thin, but the sharp, rigid lines were gone. The chill that had been seeping into his skin disappeared until he felt flushed, almost feverish. Arthur ached to kiss him again, wanting to erase the memory of dead lips pressed flatly to his. 

“Arthur?” Merlin cupped his cheek, wetting his fingers and wiping the moisture from Arthur’s lips. “It’s going to be okay.” 

Arthur shook his head. No, it wasn’t. This endless night would never be over and nothing was going to be okay again. Gawain wouldn’t be healed—if he even survived the night—and Morgana wouldn’t be resurrected. Unless…

“Bring Morgana back. Can you do that?” 

“I…no. No, I can’t do that.” 

“But you…Merlin you were _dead_.” 

“I know. Arthur, if I could do something for her, I would. But the Eater…he could take her shape because he ate her heart, Arthur.” 

Arthur frowned. “But he took your shape, too. Are you saying he _ate your heart?_ ” 

“I…he…Arthur please. My throat hurts.” 

“We need to get back to Gaius. I do expect an explanation, though. Sooner or later.” 

“You’ll have one.” 

It took several careful attempts to get them both on their feet. When Merlin started to sway, Arthur resisted the urge to sweep him in his arms, instead allowing him to lean heavily on Arthur’s arm. Each step was a battle, and Arthur certainly didn’t remember going down as many stairs as they needed to climb. When Merlin’s breath sounded damp and ragged, Arthur insisted they rest. The blue orb of light followed them as long as it was safe, but once they reached the regularly lit torches, Merlin whispered a word to dispel it. Moments later, Leon, Kay, and about a dozen guards rounded the corner to meet them. 

“Your highness! Are you well?” 

“I’m fine. Here, take Merlin. He needed to get to Gaius right away.” 

Leon picked Merlin up like he was nothing more than a child, cradling him carefully against his chest. Kay put his arm around Arthur, silently offering the prince his support. Arthur accepted it gratefully, the last of his strength draining from him when he saw Merlin was safe in Leon’s arms. By the time the small party reached Gaius’s quarters, Merlin was unconscious and Arthur’s legs were shaking badly. He didn’t remember collapsing. He didn’t remember anything after stepping through the door. 

#

Merlin sat straight up in bed, arms held up in a defensive gesture, eyes frantically searching every corner of the room for the monster he _knew_ was lurking there, waiting for him. The nightmare bled into reality to such a degree that the room seemed dark, the shadows ominous, and his legs tingled, prepared to run at the slightest threat. _Where’s Arthur? Got to find Arthur._

“Merlin.” 

He knocked the fingers away from his shoulder, ready to give chase. The blanket tangled around his legs, trapping him in bed. The more he struggled against it, the tighter it held him down. His immobility only added more fuel to the fear blowing through him, and he increased his efforts to break free, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he fought against the creature trying to hold him down. He wouldn’t let it win. He wouldn’t. It couldn’t have Arthur. He couldn’t save Morgana or Gawain but the Eater _couldn’t have Arthur._

“Merlin! Look at me! It’s just a dream. You’re fine now. There’s no monster.” 

Gaius’s words penetrated the fog around his brain, and when he felt fingers on his shoulder again, he didn’t try to escape the contact. He looked up to see Gaius’s concerned eyes and familiar face, his mouth pulled into a worried but dear frown. 

“Is it you?” Merlin whispered. 

“Of course it’s me, my boy.” 

“How do I know?” 

Gaius lowered himself to the bed beside him. “Let me see your throat. It isn’t healing like I’d like. I need to change the bandages.” 

Merlin touched the material tied around his neck, pressing gingerly on the wound. Why hadn’t it closed yet? The slash over his heart and through his stomach had closed completely within minutes. 

“Just hold still while I unwrap it,” Gaius said, gently untying the knot and unwinding the material from his throat. Merlin held his breath as the cloth separated from his skin in painful strips, the dried blood clinging to the bandage. “Almost done. Now tilt your head back so I can see.” 

Merlin obediently looked up, letting his attention drift to the window. All he could see was a patch of blue sky through the small square, unmarred by clouds. He inhaled, catching a hint of wood smoke and dry leaves. His heart leapt at the familiar scent, and he needed to be outside. He’d find Arthur and they could go to the battlements together to soak in what was left of the sun. Merlin never wanted to be in the dark again. 

“A little bit further,” Gaius said, cupping the back of Merlin’s head and guiding him back. Merlin swallowed as he ducked his face closer to the wound. His breath felt hot, rushing over Merlin’s skin. “Oh, yes, this is lovely.” 

“What…?” The word caught as Gaius closed his mouth over the torn skin, his teeth widening the hole. When he ripped his head away, he had a chunk of flesh dangling from his mouth. 

“Mmm. Delicious.” 

Merlin screamed until he gagged, took a deep breath, and started screaming again. His body wrenched, his entire frame heaving, but he couldn’t stop screaming. Even when Gaius bit into his throat again, his other hand going to Merlin’s chest, sharp claws pushing into his chest. _No, no, not again. Help me. Please somebody help me. Help me Arthur. Arthur please. Arthur Arthur Arthur…_

“Merlin! Merlin, wake up!” 

Merlin jerked awake. This time it was Arthur’s concerned face inches from his own, his head heavily bandaged, tiny scarlet stains coloring the cloth over his ear and above his eye. 

“Is it really you?” Merlin rasped. 

“It’s me. It’s me. The Eater is dead. Remember? We killed it.” 

Merlin nodded and wrapped his arms around Arthur, clinging to him like a child. Arthur didn’t hesitate to return his embrace, and Merlin felt himself relaxing within the comforting circle of Arthur’s arms. 

“It was so real,” Merlin whispered. 

“I know.” 

“It was Gaius. It killed Gaius and it was biting me and…” 

“It didn’t hurt Gaius. Gaius is fine.” 

“What about Gawain?” 

“He’s still alive,” Arthur assured him with a heavy sigh. “Gawain is very determined to live.” 

“Where is he? Where am I?” The latter question would be answered easily if Merlin would release Arthur and open his eyes, but he had no intention of doing either. As long as Arthur didn’t mind holding him, Merlin wasn’t going to let him go.

“He’s still in your room. Gaius said it was too dangerous to move him. You’re in my room.” 

“How long have I been asleep?” 

“Three days.” 

That prompted him to lean back. “What? Three days?” 

“I guess you needed the rest. But look.” Arthur gently touched Merlin’s throat, running his fingers over his Adam’s apple. “You’re all healed. You don’t even have a scar.” 

“Arthur, about that…” 

“Don’t. Gaius explained that you’re…special. Honestly, Merlin, I don’t even care. I’m just grateful you’re alive at all.” 

“I’m grateful, too. How’s your…” Merlin gestured at his head. 

“I’ll survive. But I’m not going to be pretty anymore.” 

“Who told you that you were pretty?” 

“Nobody needed to _tell_ me, Merlin. I have eyes.” 

“I hope nobody ever lied and told you that you were modest,” Merlin grumbled. 

Arthur frowned. “You know, you were supposed to assure me that I’m pretty no matter what.” 

“Even if you’re maimed?” 

“Especially if I’m maimed.” 

Merlin tried to smile, but the gesture faded as Arthur swayed closer. "Arthur…I know you kissed me.” 

Arthur’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and he jumped to his feet, stumbling back to put as much distance between them as possible. “What? I didn’t…I didn’t kiss you, Merlin.” 

“I felt it.” 

“You were…you were dead.” 

“I still felt it. I think my body was dead but my soul was still present. I’m not sure how else to describe it. So…I know.” 

“I’m sorry. But you were _gone_ and I realized I never…I always wanted to but I never did.” 

Merlin held out his hand. “Don’t apologize. I want you to kiss me for real so I know what it feels like.” 

“But Gawain.” 

“Me and Gawain were never together, and Arthur, I…” Merlin paused, wondering if he should tear himself open so Arthur could see everything. But what was left to hide? There shouldn’t be any obstacles between them. Not anymore. “I really need you.” 

That was all the invitation Arthur needed. He returned to the bed, settling on the narrow mattress, holding Merlin against him. Their bodies curved together, their chests and thighs touching, their fingers loosely clasped together. Merlin reached up with his other hand to touch the visible ends of Arthur’s hair, marveling at the silky texture and the way the sunlight caught it like gold. Arthur caught him under the chin and tenderly brought their mouths together, kissing him with sweet insecurity. Merlin clutched him, holding him until Arthur’s soft moans overwhelmed the memory of the Eater’s hungry growls.


End file.
